


First Comes the Family

by petting_a_bumblebee



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: (and he is also a superior granddad), Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Alfred Pennyworth, Banter, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Character Turned Into Vampire, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, First Meetings, Flirty Bruce Wayne, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Good Older Sibling Dick Grayson, Human/Vampire Relationship, Humor, Identity Porn, Inappropriate Use of Vampire Glamor, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Light Angst, M/M, Past Violence, Protective Bruce Wayne, Secret Past, Unconventional Families, Vampire Bites, Vampire Bruce Wayne, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29090511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petting_a_bumblebee/pseuds/petting_a_bumblebee
Summary: The Guardian of Gotham is an urban myth, right? So how come Superman is able to meet a tall, dark, and almost fried stranger who is rescuing people from the blazing inferno despite of his obvious heat allergy?Damn that stupid, sexy vampire glamour! And all that Victorian snark and broody mystique! Sooner as Clark is getting a kitty out of the tree he is playing doctor Phil to Bruce’s eldest son Dick and his marital problems, inviting an undead boyfriend to visit his parents (or their freezer), and meeting Bruce’s grandson Tommy, who is the cutest little button ever.Picture perfect, if not Clark’s pig-headed teammate Diana trying to turn Justice League into the vampire slayers. Or al Ghul’s shadow army arriving to Gotham, hunting the secrets of power and eternal life hidden in Bruce’s altered body.Hypothetically speaking, what would be a legal position of a space alien marrying a human who has been dead about two hundred years, given or taken a few decades?Just asking for a friend.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Batman/Superman, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 25
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

Bruce getting caught was inevitable. Alfred moved like a ninja if he wanted to, and obviously he had wanted to, because when had the old man passed the opportunity to surprise Bruce in the worst possible moment. It was like some weird marriage contract, _for better or for worse, in sickness and in health,_ but let’s not talk about health, the issue made Alfred always cranky.

So there was no warning. No lights to go on in the corridor, no shuffling shoes or clink of china. The old man must have been standing at the door for a while now, observing Bruce. A light tremor in the corner of Alfred’s mouth and eyes which sparkled with concealed mirth spelled trouble.

“Maybe we should buy a scrap book, master Bruce. They have printed some nice stickers of him already.”

There were half a dozen screens. Every one of them were displaying the newest fad of the public: a dark haired, tall man in a blue tight-fitting onesie and long, red cape.

 _I am not collecting pictures of kitties,_ _Alfred_ _._ Perhaps if he kept his sentences short and dignified Alfred would believe him. _I am d_ _oing_ _a_ _scientific resear_ _ch._

Alfred hummed. What ever that meant, anything.

_Al, don’t be annoying._

“Maybe a pajama shirt too”, his butler flash nurse flash bodyguard wondered. “They do those in adult sizes and with his logo on the front. According to miss Lane’s interview that sign on his chest means hope in his native language. There is never enough of that around.”

It wasn’t said without sentimentality. Way to make Bruce feel bad. Alfred shook his head. “Don’t give me those eyebrows, master Bruce. If I may say so, I haven’t seen you so enthusiastic for years, and indeed why not, he is really something extraordinary, isn’t he? Perhaps this research includes some potential to enlarge the social circle of this household.”

If Bruce had been capable of blushing, he would have been red as a beetroot. He turned his eyes from Alfred’s knowing face to look at the time. The reading in the right corner of his screens hadn’t changed much after his last check-out. There was still a little over two hours to the sunset.

He could feel the sun through the roof and walls of Wayne manor. How the cruel sphere of hot plasma made his bones and flesh ache for cool darkness of the night, how all that light and heat pushed him tighter against the mattress, made his breath wheeze and eyes sting with unshed tears of pain.

_I have an idea._

“Oh dear.”

_Al, shut up. I am not going out tonight._

“I see. And what ever will you be doing instead of daring but stealthy rescues of innocent citizens of Gotham?”

_Meet me in the drawing room. I need a printout of that picture._

Bruce moved his eyes and a cursor shifted over the said picture. A sophisticated eye-controlled computer system and a voice synthesizer were products of Bruce’s own company. He had long ago silenced his conscious about the misuse of the resources. The things he was beta-testing will have many useful applications for people who were not only disabled, but unlike Bruce himself, actually alive in the traditional meaning of the word.

Alfred came beside the bed and removed Bruce’s oxygen mask. A sippy cup was pushed between his lips. Bruce sucked weakly and the taste and smell of roses hit his tongue. His favorite.

“Master Bruce, this would be so much less painful for you if you let me...”

_No!_

Bruce didn’t want to sleep. A little death, who had invented the term had known what they were talking about. And what use Bruce had for those brief easy and less painful moments? If he let himself get used to oblivion from Alfred’s syringe, a hardship coming after the sweet relief would only be more difficult to endure. Alfred had to understand that, but still he tempted him. The readings from his body had to look bad if he suggested drugs only a few hours before they were not needed anymore.

The oxygen mask was pulled back over his mouth and nose. Bruce’s eyes turned towards the clock again. Alfred noticed the movement and he shook his head, briefly looking as old as his years.

*

There had been time, it had to be years ago, when Alfred had come home with a puppy. The dog had been big as a calf and still a stupid, overenthusiastic child. But she had the most soulful brown eyes Bruce had ever seen and thick, short mane of jet black fur, and what was the strangest thing of them all, unlike most other animals, she wasn’t afraid of Bruce, on the contrary. When he came back from his nightly patrol, he was greeted with joyful barking. Her paws landed on his shoulders while smelly dog kisses tried to cover every inch of his face.

When Ace finally passed away, Bruce insisted she should be buried on the Wayne family cemetery. For a few years Bruce visited her grave more often than he did for his parents and siblings, which of course would have made him feel like a foul person, if he still had been a person, and no more dead jokes master Bruce, Alfred would have said to the matter.

As usual, his senses misinterpret the clickety-clack coming from his own toenails for her paws. For a few seconds he half expected her to dash across the hall to greed him, only to remember a little tomb in the graveyard. He felt a short burst of melancholy before crushing the feeling as unnecessary.

Sharp toenails and parquet didn’t usually fit together, but Alfred had made a wish Bruce shouldn’t fly indoors. The prohibition - because it was foolish to interpret his butler’s words otherwise - had came into effect at the same time as Alfred’s patience had reached its limits. Bruce hadn’t be aware he owned so many ugly knickknacks Alfred considered as family heirlooms, and he didn’t comprehend why his butler was so adamant about keeping them intact. When you inherited yourself every five decades the occasion was turning even the nicest pieces of furniture into the boring old things instead of memorabilia of deceased and loved family members. If he wanted to remember his father, he had the original daguerreotypes taken of his parents, he didn’t need a broken grandfather clock to walk him down the memory lane.

In the drawing room, Alfred had gone over the top as always. Print me a picture, Bruce had asked and what he had gotten: a vinyl banner in an actual size of his person of interest.

“Alfred...”

“I took a liberty to photoshop miss Lane out of the picture.”

Bruce huffed, but he couldn’t deny it was a nice likeness. Sun rays glimmered from the blue costume and the red cape rested at ease from his shoulders. Bruce wondered if the garment was only for a dramatic effect or if it had any practical use. The man’s face was like that of a fine marble statue, delicate, but chiseled enough for a real masculine beauty who had lost the boyhood’s softness. The dark hair was thick and glossy, a lone curl escaping over his forehead.

Bruce crooked his browse finger and followed that perfect cheekbone with his joint. The man’s face seemed to glow against his skin. A light among the darkness. Did he really want to burn that bad? And by burning he meant it literally.

“Yes, master Bruce. I am well aware what you meant. If you are quite finished with your clumsy witticisms, which would made Mr. Wilde roll in his grave by the way, here is the tablet you asked. As he said...”

“No quotas from him”, Bruce ordered. “Like ever. I told him that young lad wasn’t worth of his devotion, and guess what, I was right. Damn that coward! Running behind his daddy’s pant legs and letting Oscar rot in prison.”

Something popped into his mind. Bruce squinted his eyes and tried to study his butler’s face which was unreadable as usual. “Alfred, are you implying my research of this fine piece of _übermensch_ might have an undertone of a deviant purpose?”

Alfred was a champion at sighing without engaging into an actual act of exhaling. “Master Bruce, at least try not to quote Nietzsche when you meet him. As you should well know that philosopher has a certain reputation nowadays, unfair or not.” Alfred’s voice got more timber when he continued, “And I really wish you would stop speaking of yourself in demeaning way. Times have changed.”

Perhaps they had. Poor Oscar had been thrown in the jail because of a wisp of a man he could now legally marry. Even the thought made Bruce’s throat ache with a growl.

“That’s the spirit, master Bruce”, Alfred said, clapping his hands. Perhaps he had snarled aloud. “Well, what do you think? Big and detailed enough for your inspiration?”

“It will do.”

And yes, quite inspirational. Bruce selected a photo from his collection, balanced the pencil between his fingers and made the first draws on his tablet. The chosen color couldn’t be blue, that would be too obvious. He was an equal, not a fanboy. His current coat was dark gray, but how about black? Dark like Ace’s fur, the dog had looked like a liquid shadow when she skulked at the kitchen, waiting to snatch tidbits Alfred “accidentally” left out of his sight.

“And what would that be, I pray tell… oh.”

Yes, oh. Alfred had no trouble to recognize a dark haired young man in the picture as Bruce, even if his figure was fast covering under his steady pencil strokes. Boots were alright, maybe a bit sturdier were needed, and metal tips for kicks to land properly. He liked the vest, but it would be unpractical. He didn’t have use for a sad looking spaniel either, or those three dead mallards hanging from the guy’s left hand.

A gentleman hunter was turning into something else. He waited for reproach and was surprised it was not coming. Alfred looked thoughtful as he tapped his cheek and stared over his shoulder at the banner with its bright character.

“He is very cheery, but that is not a tone you are looking for, master Bruce. Not something approachable. More like a… ghost? A dark avenger?”

An old Gotham legend manifesting in flesh, Alfred meant. A protector hiding in the darkness.

“He will need a mask”, Bruce mumbled, because the royal third person, that was always a sign of full mental faculties. He painted the man’s face black, leaving only low slits for the eyes.

“No, no. Leave the lower part of the face uncovered. There will be occasions when situation requires some teeth.”

“Alfred!” Bruce was scandalized.

“A threat, a promise, master Bruce. Nothing more. If you are really trying to measure with our new friend who has a longer cape.”

“It is a cowl”, Bruce rumbled. He had erased the face clean except for the upper part.

“No, that looks too much like a little red riding hood”, Alfred mumbled. “All that mass will hinter you eyesight. Make it more tight fitting. And add some kind of… horns? Yes, that is what I meant.”

Bruce added volume to the cape. The end result oozed danger and mystery, a love child of the Phantom of the Opera and the Grim Reaper himself. Bruce could read from few faint tells Alfred was impressed even if he tried to hide his feeling under the usual snark.

“What is wrong with your overcoat suddenly? It’s long enough to look quite dashing when you leap from roof to roof over the alleyways. I am sure it alone would have left an impression.”

It had been a stupid idea anyway. Bruce prepared to delete the changes, but Alfred took hold of his arm. The touch made his muscles tense. Not because it felt bad. It felt… it was just suddenly too much.

“Maybe… maybe it would be a good time for a new puppy?”

He had loved to slide his fingers over Ace’s soft fur. Hide his face on her flank and whisper all the sad and hurtful things into her understanding canine ears.

Alfred shook his head. His voice was filled with a horrible, undeserved tenderness when he spoke again.

“There is no shame in hope to belong, to try to find somebody who will understand how exhausting it is to be extraordinary. To want to be touched and cherished without fear or disgust is the most natural thing in the world.”

His quick denial turned into submissive shrug. Had he ever been able to hide anything important from Alfred? “Nice word for a soul sucking freak you got there, Al.”

Alfred didn’t correct him this time, but his whole demeanor was vibrating with disapproval. This was worse than after accidentally breaking the better china and Bruce changed the subject. “I did some research about materials. Spandex would be the most convenient, I think.”

Alfred snorted.

“You won’t wear such a thing. You are going into the battlefield, not doing aerobics. We will need Kevlar for the torso and head at least. The cape itself should manage the NFPA 701 Test. It has to include fireproof fibers or maybe fire-retardant chemicals.”

Fire wasn’t a friend, Alfred could say that again. But being bulletproof seemed to be exaggeration.

“It is for tactical advantage, master Bruce. You don’t show all your cards at once. You better have an ace in your leave if your contact turns out to be hostile.”

That was a clear possibility. What if that impossible being didn’t like what he saw when he looked at Bruce. Perhaps he would drag Bruce under the sun to burn? He needed only to circle Bruce’s head and crush his skull with those hands which possessed enough power to stop a racing locomotive.

He had once asked Alfred what did he see when he looked at him. _I see you, master Bruce. I see you._

Bruce hadn’t dared to ask the second time.

The first versions of his new wardrobe would be ready after a few days if Bruce knew Alfred at all. But were his arrangements all in vain? Frolicking and indulging himself when there were so many real people with real problems he should be taking care of? Problems which could not be solved with sonic booms or laser visions of some alien messiah?

“I will hardly impress him. He flies too and is more powerful than me.”

Alfred nodded toward the banner. “Let’s not forget his most devious superpower. Perhaps he is an alien shapeshifter, but in that form he is a comely fellow.”

“Indeed.”

He had managed to astonish Alfred. The old man had expected Bruce to deny the matter or say it was of no consequence. “Master Bruce...”

“Stop it, Alfred.”

“Very well, but what I was about to say, Metropolis is not that far, and he has been seen around the world during these last weeks. You don’t need to worry, master Bruce. He will come out to play. Who would not want to solve a mystery?”


	2. Chapter 2

“How is your first night shift working for you, Smallville?”

Lois had brought him coffee. Had he forget to pretend he was tired? It happened when you actually didn’t need to sleep but for a joy of the weightless feeling of losing conscious.

“Oh thanks”, Clark said and grabbed the mug like it was a lifeline. His performance was unnecessary though, perhaps a delicate chemist set could have deduced some caffeine from Clark’s favorite drink, which was mostly sugar and milk. Or like Lois said: coffee disgraced.

Clark tried in vain to prevent his eyes to get their usual admiring gleam. But she was so lively, bold, and full of spirit! So brave, and braver still when she knew Superman would rush for her help if things went badly.

The idea made his own spirit sour. She was such a danger magnet, taking so many unnecessary risks. Why couldn’t she...

Everything halted when her hand landed on his shoulder. She bent besides his ear to look at the screen of Clark’s computer. Her body heat was so close, and her perfume, it wasn’t an asthma triggering cloud like some women or men favored. Oh no, it was classy fruity smell, which made Clark’s nostril dance with happiness.

“Don’t let Perry see you fornicating with other newspapers”, she said, but there was a smirk in her voice. “What is our rising investigating journalist searching now? From Gotham Gazette of all things?”

Lois could see it herself. All the articles Clark had browsed were dealing with the same thing. An urban legend coming alive. The new sightings of the Guardian of Gotham.

“How is now the first time I hear about this?” Clark mumbled. He had been busy these last few months, starting his own superhero career and a new civilian job, but not being on the pulse of things was not a way to make an impression on the Pulitzer winner co-worker. “I hadn’t seen this on the assignment list either. Isn’t anyone going to investigate?”

“Oh how they come from those local country papers so full of energy and fresh ideas! Listen, Hayseed. That kind of articles were bound to happen after Daily Planet published my interview with Superman. Of course our darker sister city withered with envy and then those sad excuses they call reporters around there dug some Sunday special features from the archive and invented a hero better suited for the needs of their city. Let me tell you, Clark. Urban legends really don’t come alive when it is convenient for their dropping sales.”

“But this says there are eye-witnesses.”

“Everyone want their fifteen minutes.”

“You think they are lying? Just because they wish for their own dark Superman?”

Perhaps it should feel odd to talk about himself like he was some stranger, but he was used to the fact in his childhood in Smallville.

“Clark, there is a definite difference. When we are talking about Superman it is not about ten feet tall, winged monster who comes when you say its name trice in front of a mirror.”

Or rather he comes when you yell loud enough. Clark had gotten an idea. Too bad he wanted to share. “All those who are claiming to see the Guardian have been victims of street crime.”

Lois raised her hand and pointed her browser into his nose. “No, Clark.”

“You didn’t even hear me out.”

“I don’t have to. It is obvious you want me to play a damsel in distress.”

Lois’s smile was one third amusement and two thirds dare for Clark to say something which would make him sound like a chauvinistic hick everyone had assumed he to be. A blush fanned out over his cheeks like a forest fire. “I wouldn’t dare to assume, Ms. Lane.”

“Oh now it is Ms. Senior Supervisor again.” Lois tried to keep her expression sober but her eyes sparkled with mischief. “And for a record: you already did. You really would tie me up to the railway tracks in hope monster comes and eats our faces, which is actually a brilliant career move on your part. Except one: eating the faces part, and two: there is no spooky monster, but something else.”

Clark wanted to groan aloud as he realized Lois’s meaning. “Somebody inspired by Superman. You mean a copycat. A home-made vigilante.”

“Yes. Somebody with a sense of dramatic flair. What can I say, that skintight outfit and red cape are very eye catching. If fit-looking guys overall will take that as a fashion statement who I am not to approve.”

Now Clark was so red he waited the fire truck to park in front of Daily Planet building and hose him for good. “Seriously speaking, no eaten faces were reported, only concussions and broken bones. But that is nothing new in itself, it had been going on for years.”

“Who tipped you about that?”

Lois gave him a patient smile. Like she would reveal her informants to a rookie journalist. “These occurrences hadn’t been connected to any particular person before, but I have read reports of the cases which includes heterogeneous bunch of criminals: killers, rapists, spouse beaters, child molesters, even white collar crimes. The surprise turn usually happens after police investigation has been going on for a while and nothing seems to come of it. But then suddenly, bang!”

“Bang… what?”

Was Lois saying this new vigilante killed the perpetrators? Lois shook her head. “No, that would draw attention even in Gotham. It is more complex than that. The usual course of action is the person of interest in the investigation comes to the police station and confess. Usually they also serve evidence of their wrongdoings.”

Clark was flabbergasted. “But that had to mean...”

“That the Guardian of Gotham has a contact person in the police department? Exactly. The vigilante has worked all these years under the approval of local authorities. A little third degree here and there, so the police force can keep their hands clean. Or at least so clean they could be in that city.”

“And that is not a story?” Clark was bursting with opprobrium. “The police accepts violence and threats from unknown third party towards the civilians they have sworn to protect?”

“That would be a brilliant story”, Lois sighed. She ruffed his head with a gesture which more unsure person would have deciphered as matronizing. “But sorry to say, that will be way over your abilities, Smallville. Nobody will talk. There are only rumors and those are for tabloids, not for a respectable newspaper.”

“It shouldn’t mean we don’t even try.”

“I explained this not that you would get excited, Clark.” Lois had moved her hand so it leaned on the back of his chair. Her eyes were serious as she looked at the co-worker she had started to consider as a friend. “That is a nice status quo Gotham has had going on for years, and I don’t think anybody there want the arrangement to end. I just don’t want you to get hurt in the crossfire.”

Yes, that also. Clark felt warm inside as he realized Lois wasn’t afraid to lose her case, she was just worried about his well-being. He raised his eyes to the news feed so he didn’t need to answer through a slump in his throat. What he saw on the screen made him half-raise from his chair. There had been a massive garbage landslide in Philippines. First estimates of buried people were about two hundred and counting. He should leave and…

“Clark, what is it?”

Clark realized he had been clutching his stomach, ready to open his jacket. It was an excuse he was looking for. “I don’t know”, he whispered through gritted teeth. “Suddenly… I feel so nauseated. Should I go to the toilet and puke? Perhaps it would...”

“No way! You go home, Clark!” Lois’s lips twisted in disgust. “I am too busy to get your stomach bug. God, if I am not able to interview the mayor tomorrow! You are certainly not going to get any chicken soup but a smack in your head.”

“Sorry, Lois. A-alright, if you don’t mind…”

Lois had already escaped to her own work station and turned her back at him. Clark collected his messenger bag and phone and hurried to the elevator, not forgetting to hold his stomach this time, a painful grimace on his lips. He cursed his need for secrecy when his every instinct screamed him to rush through the window and hit the sonic boom at the first possible moment. Every minute counted for life or death of unfortunate victims. Garbage often released toxic gas, which meant that more people might die from poisoning whilst awaiting rescue. Trash also generated heat, which means many of them may die from hyperthermia. In extreme cases, the garbage may ignite and start to burn, adding the chaos and casualties.

Superman had his hands full for hours, searching for the survivors, retrieving the bodies, and stabilizing the rest of the garbage that the landslide wouldn’t happen again in the near future.

Oh that smell! It was worse than in their neighbors’ pigsty! Clark was sure it would never leave his skin or clothes and those people lived there. Poor people who had nowhere else to go. They built their homes in the dumping grounds and searched among the waste things they turned into something saleable, and there he was whining how he have to use extra detergent when he washed his uniform.

He was the strongest man in the world but most of the time he felt helpless like a baby.

It was a horrible, busy affair. He didn’t have time to listen as a series of explosions shattered a city block in the other side of the world, causing a fire in the east side of the Gotham, screaming, panicky people in their nightwear climbing to the roofs and balconies or jumping from the windows of the burning building.

Just before the first desperate one hit the asphalt he was snatched. Superman? No, not the red and blue, but black, only black. The man was tossed unceremoniously on the ground when the shadow leaped up and air again, heading toward the next window and the next escapee from a flaming inferno, which was a former nice and rent regulated two bedroom apartment.

_Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bat! It’s a giant oceanic manta ray!_

Well, if those were the choices. Damn the feeble imagination of the dry land dwellers! The second idea would have had so much more flare in it.


	3. Chapter 3

“Master Bruce, what is your status? Are you alright?”

Bruce coughed, but spitting out smoke-tasting saliva didn’t clear his throat enough for him to answer. Alfred never sounded frantic, but him slipping from using their code names told the old man was besides himself with worry, and he had every right to be. “Master Bruce, they just showed Superman is coming. Now you can get out of there. Get out of there right now! I know you are hu...”

He didn’t hear more before the voice on the comm turned into static. The heat must have disturbed the equipment. He had kept his focus on firemen trying to contain the flames, pondering his next target, but the building was already lost, as were the people still trapped inside. If there were people still inside. Bruce didn’t know, he didn’t possess a handy x-ray vision, nor did he have convenient invulnerability. He would heal though. He just had to ignore the heat and brightness which pierced him like the power of hundred little suns. Sometime soon his body would give up, but not right away, even if he was dropping fast, burning.

Two children hanging from his hands, their mother from his neck there was not much place to make elegant maneuvers. He landed hard on his back, his cape smoldering and sizzling when he sprawled on the wet asphalt.

Alfred’s fire resistant fabric had guaranteed Bruce wasn’t already crisp like a pork rib. Much good it did to him when his innards felt like they were boiling. A normal human being would have been sweating and red like a lobster, having first degree burns, but Bruce’s altered body showed no outer marks of his bone deep agony. He had to grit his teeth together not to whimper aloud, force his fingers to let go, and the mother grabbed the younger son into her arms. The older one pulled himself out of his hold, was pointing something above them.

An eerie hum went through the crowd, and many people halted, turning their faced to the sky. There were spontaneous cheers which turned into rhythmical chant in which the policemen near Bruce joined in: Superman! Superman! Superman!

As Alfred had said, it was the time. Bruce pushed himself off the cool ground, staggered on his feet, and after a few tries got into the air. The red and blue blur moved faster than human eye could catch it, and the rest of the people still needing a rescue were soon delivered to the waiting paramedics. Bruce tried to gain altitude, but his movements were slow and sluggish. A wonderful cold daft hit his back and he turned his head to look even if he guessed what had happened. When gasses under pressure expanded they also cooled. Superman had secured the perimeter with a single exhale, how convenient was that.

Another round of cheers rolled over to the evening, while Bruce landed on the street in the other side of the park. In his current condition, there was no way he would be able to endure the whole trip to the manor by flying, but there was still a way. He was looking for one particular manhole, he had one spotted in every few blocks around the city, and he still got enough power to lift the cover without any extra tools.

There were no ladder, but that wasn’t needed. He let himself hover down until his boots touched the water. It had been raining and he was knee deep before his soles hit the ground. The tunnel was too low for flying so walking was the only option. He had a map of the city’s sewer system memorized, but suddenly it was hard to think. The cape over his shoulders had tripled its weight, and the armor pushing against his agonizing skin making hissing exhales and curses to escape from his lips. He swallowed the foul taste of ash from his mouth and pushed his shoulders onward.

Some distance between him and the scene, and then he would rise above the ground again. He would fix his communicator and call Alfred to get him. Or if that would not be possible, he would glamor somebody to give him a lift. That part of his powers were kind of unethical so he tried to avoid using the ability to innocents, but it was crucial Superman didn’t meet him right now. Not when Bruce was half dead of the heat and full of inconvenient questions which could get him killed.

If Superman was close enough to notice what was happening, what the hell had he been doing when the fire started? Did he deliberately waited for the last possible moment before showing up? Had he endangered citizens of Gotham to make himself seem more savior-like? Bruce didn’t know, but a doubt had taken a root, nagging at him. What he really knew about Superman?

He cursed under his breath. Scientific research, what a joke! He had been as smitten of the alien as everybody else. Wanting… not knowing exactly what he had wanted. Not to be the only one different? Hope to find a familiar face who wouldn’t fade during the decades? The alien was strong, fast, and loaded with uncanny abilities. Why not also with immortality?

Perhaps he should have had to pay more attention to his feet. He staggered over something, probably his own stupid cape, but instead of falling on his face into filthy sewer water, he was pulled upward. He had been so deeply curled up in his pain and panicky thoughts, he hadn’t detached the movements in the air around him. What a rookie mistake! Hadn’t he managed to close the cover of the manhole? Never mind, for a man who had an x-ray vision it wasn’t much of a cover.

“Hey! Look out!”

The voice was surprisingly soft, not so deprived of the accent as in his TV-interviews. The hands like steel rods took a hold of his armpits and kept him upward. He weighed 200 lb. without his gear but he was dangled in the air like a little kitty who was nothing more than fluffy fur. Superman’s hold pushed gel padding of his suit more tightly against his burned skin, and an involuntary gasp of pain and surprise escaped from his mouth before he swallowed it down.

“Gosh! I am so sorry! Are you hurt? I didn’t mean…”

Bruce was released immediately. He had an excellent night vision, and Superman looked as bewildered as he had sounded. He was keeping his hands up in a calming gesture.

“Wait a second and I will check if you have broken bones.”

NO!

The Command in his voice made the alien took an involuntary step back. First Bruce had considered to use his glamour to innocent civilians and now he was already giving Commands; what a wonderful lesson of ethics this evening was turning out to be.

YOU ARE NEVER GOING TO X-RAY ME! NOT WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!

“No need to shout”, Superman said. He sounded a tad offended. “I have a perfectly normal hearing, and… well, not perfectly normal in a general sense, but...”

It didn’t look like the Command had worked at the alien. Wonderful, the most powerful weapon in his arsenal was as useless as his whole body felt right now.

The situation dawned to him with a delay. He hadn’t given a serious thought to the possibility his preternatural skills could fail him. He had been like everybody else, hoodwinked by the alien’s likeness to humans.

“Hey. No need to be scared. One of the kids you saved said you burned yourself. I just wanted to make sure you are alright.”

“That is admirable objective you got there, sir. Now step away from him.”

Perhaps Bruce was losing his mind, but at the same time he knew the familiar voice wasn’t a hallucination. He wanted to scream in frustration. Alfred, you idiot! The scent of roses was getting stronger until it covered the sewer stench. A smell of home and safety. The old man endangering himself because of Bruce had never been a part of the plan.

“I mean no harm. I just… do you need help? He told me not to x-ray him, but I don’t need to do that to know he is not in a good way. I can fly him to the hospital.”

Now they were talking over his head, and Bruce stood there taking it all in, not even near at being in the control of the situation. Alfred didn’t answer to the alien, but the gun targeting Superman didn’t move. They all know the gesture was purely symbolic. A IMI Tavor-21 rifle attached with M203 grenade launcher could have been a slingshot, for all it was good for. One dash and push, and Alfred would be a wet slot on the sewer wall if he wasn’t burned alive with the alien’s heat vision before that.

His throat was so dry it cracked and bled when he uttered the first syllables. “P-penny one, get away from h-here...”

“Hush, young master.”

Superman looked like he didn’t know what to think about their family drama. If the alien had been younger, Bruce bet he would have been twiddling with the helm of his cape like a girl rolls a curl of hair around her finger when being shy or confused.

“Listen, I think this is all some big misunderstanding. I will go that you get to take care of him. If you are really not needing any help.”

When either of them didn’t answer, the alien blushed. “Guess not”, he mumbled. “Well, it has been nice to meet you both.” It was delivered without irony. Superman stood there a moment like pondering if it was any good to depart without shaking hands. Country boy, Bruce thought. Yes ma’am, no ma’am, thank you ma’am, the whole shebang.

“He h-has an ice b-breath”, he rasped out as Superman had made his blurring thing and disappeared. Bruce didn’t know what he felt. Disappointment? Relief? The cool breeze when Superman had exhausted the flames from the burning buildings had been a sweet relief.

“We don’t know what kind of control he has over his powers. I couldn’t risk that, master Bruce.”

“I k-know. I c-can walk.”

Alfred had brought with him an inflatable floating row. That was more than a little undignified.

“The hell you can, and I am not going to carry you. Down you go! I have to say this serves you right, sir. Try not to pierce your transport with your spiky parts.”

Meaning his gauntlets, not other things. From his mouth, for example.

Alfred didn’t need to push him on the floaty, Bruce had no more strength but lie down on his stomach and try not to holler in pain. Alfred knew that also. The old man called him sir only when he was royally pissed off.

“My t-testament… T-there are i-i-instructions for t-the c-company, but we h-h-haven’t t-talked about D-dick and J-j-jason.”

“Hush sir, or I will forget I like to sock you very much right now. You are not going to die. Technically that would be impossible to do twice.”

Bruce’s laughter came out like a raspy sob. “F-feels like I am b-b-burning i-inside… it d-d-doesn’t s-stop.”

“I know, sir. You were too long near the heat. Hush now. And don’t try to Command me. I am going to sedate you.”

The concoction would have killed a normal human on the spot. Bruce was made a bit drowsy. He didn’t lose his conscious and was in his sound mind the whole agonizing trip to the place where their next obstacle started. There were stairs which would lead to the service tunnel, ending at the old, closed metro station. A convenient trail for somebody like him who knew his dark places, only that now even the shortest dash was beyond his limits.

Bruce squinted his eyes. It was like his groggy senses had detached movement in the shadows… there! He was about to warn Alfred, when a man revealed himself, taking hasty steps to get besides them. His smell carried the same safe, familiar air than Alfred’s, but where the old man’s signature aroma was the roses from which he extracted Bruce’s main sustenance, Dick didn’t smell anything but of himself. Young male, all testosterone, sweat, and pricey aftershave, which Bruce had originally let him snick from his cabinet. Chalk Dick used to dust his hands before his gymnastics. His heady bird was meant to sour across the skies. He seemed clipped and ground bound standing there in the damp and smelly darkness.

“A-alfred”, Bruce mumbled from between his numb lips. “W-what have y-you done?”

*

It took two days for Bruce to mend so much he could keep up a conversation without wanting to cry and howl in pain because of persisting, hurtful heat gnawing his body. On the day three Alfred and Dick helped him to move himself from the ice water filled bathtub to his bedroom. Or his cave, as Dick had always called the place.

He had not been hallucinating. Dick was home. Bruce couldn’t comprehend how he had mixed the dates. And now Dick had gotten to knew about the manta ray too.

“You didn’t mix anything. Alfred called me and explained the situation after you refused the third time to get out of the scene.”

But how Dick had gotten around so fast? He was supposed to be in Las Vegas, practicing with his colleagues. Dick was an aerial acrobat, and the last year had finally seen the fulfillment of his lifelong dream when he had been appointed to the Cirque du Soleil.

“Oh that. I was here already. I arranged this week off and came to see Barbara and Tommy.”

The way how Dick was avoiding his gaze forebode nothing good or easy. “Barbara gave you a chance to patch things up, and you use it by sitting here. Why? What ever do you think to accomplish?”

That came out wrong. Bruce realized how his words sounded a few seconds before his quick-tempered son let him hear his mind. “Dad, for fucks sake! You were barbecuing yourself on live television! What the hell did you want me to do? Ask Tommy if he wanted popcorn while we watch grandpa burn? Of course I am here! You...”

Dick grabbed his hair with a both hands, a gesture Bruce had seen him do so many times when his son tried to calm himself down. “Look, I claimed a family emergency. Barbara understands. We have… We have been talking on a phone lately. A lot. Alfred suggested I claimed he had heart trouble.”

After their breakups and new tries Dick had been adamant not to keep secrets from his wife, and Bruce had expected he would just uncover his secrets without his permission. But maybe not. The truth would make Dick sound loony, and that wasn’t the best idea if there were custody negotiations in sight.

“So you two are able to be with the same room again. That is mature of you, Dick.”

Alright. Now it was official. Bruce was an asshole even when we tried not to be. Too fact orientated, no people skills whatsoever. My little accountant, his mother had called him. You will make a great businessman someday. You will make your daddy proud.

“Dick, I… I am sorry.”

His son’s jaw tensed, but the eyes were soft and worrying again, his anger burned to ashes as soon as the fire had ignited. “Is this conversation distracting you from pain? If it is, I don’t mind but otherwise.”

“Very well. You may distract me with other subjects. Alfred, did you already bake a homecoming cake?”

“Naturally, master Bruce. Your favorite, chocolate and cherry.”

Alfred was indulging him. On purpose, he thought, and all he needed to do was almost be burned to crisp.

“That drove me crazy as a kid”, Dick said as Alfred returned with a slice of cake. “You staring and sniffing at food. I couldn’t comprehend why didn’t you just eat it.”

Bruce did as Dick had claimed and took a long, deep sniffs of the treat. Oh it did smell heavenly!

“You know why, Dick.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know then. I just...”

Dick hadn’t ask. Bruce had assumed his ward had talked about his peculiarities with Alfred, but now he learned that was not the case.

“You were afraid what I would say? That I would grow tired of your questions and sent you away? Is that why you were so hell-bent against the boarding schools I suggested?”

“I was afraid to break the illusion. This was like… like I was living in the enhanced castle. If I made a wrong move, everything would disappear and I would be alone again.”

“Dick, I don’t know what to say.”

Dick scoffed. “As if that is a new development.”

“Master Richard”, Alfred warned, but Dick was shaking his head, a sad set on his eyes and lips. “Don’t worry, dad. Everything is not always because your have done something wrong or neglect to do something you should have. I haven’t said it clear enough but you did good from the mess which was pushed into your lap.”

Bruce honestly didn’t know what to say except the truth. “You are not a mess. It has been a privilege, little bird.”

Dick’s shoulders slumped. He seemed to be only a few careless words from crying. “Please, dad. Don’t do things like this ever again.”

And there they were on the thin ice again. Bruce glimpsed helplessly at Alfred.

“Master Bruce, as young master well knows you can’t make promises like that, but perhaps you don’t need be so blunt about your actions as usual.”

“You mean I have to offer him a reassuring lie?”

“That is right, master Bruce.”

Dick’s hands were in his hair again. “Jesus, you two.” Dick cried and smiled at the same time, a feat Bruce had never been able to do even when he was still a human. “You will be the death of me.”

“We are? I watched your show. If somebody is about to break his neck it is not me.”

Somehow that was wrong thing to say. His son’s shoulder line stiffened and he took a few nervous steps around.

“When you are making your decisions try to remember money is not an issue.”

Dick’s jaw tensed again. “What is the first priority of a privileged man”, the boy mumbled, like reciting something he had heard repeated various times. “The man’s first priority is his god.”

“Well, yes”, Bruce said carefully. Obviously his father’s words carried a different meaning to him as to his son at the same age. “If you so choose, we may ignore the celestial.”

“The privileged man had to put his family first in all things, but not by neglecting the society which has nurtured his spirit and his body, giving him values, ideas, and inspiration to live his live in the service of those ideals and his fellow man.”

Was that bitterness, even self-pity what he was hearing? “Little bird, you have done lots of work to archive what you are today, but sometimes we make choices which will define our whole life in spite of our original desires.”

Bruce had decided to conquer a nameless rock in Pakistan and tried to do so even after the locals warned him the place was haunted by the legendary, unbeatable monsters. He had been full of hybris of the gentleman adventurer and paid the highest price of his wilful decision. Dick had only managed to make his girlfriend pregnant.

Bruce had met the girl and his father during the daytime. A nice girl, as Bruce soon noticed, but understandable confused, angry, and scared of her situation. She was still at college, wanted to be a librarian. His single parent father was a no-nonsense man, a detective in GCPD. Bruce was a member of the one of the oldest and wealthiest family in Gotham, and there had always been a possibility his son would end up as a milking cow for some money grabbing bimbo. But the heart rates and perspiration didn’t lie. This case seemed to be only an honest accident.

What do you want to do? I have heard it is still early days. If…

“No. Never.”

It came out as forceful as his Command, so at least one of them knew her mind. Very well. Adoption?

Barbara had bolted upright and took a dash to the door. “Babs”, his father started. His voice sounded tired. Bruce bet there had been lots of that going around during the last couple of days.

That is unfair, young miss. I am not able to run after you. You engaged yourself in an adult act and ended your childhood willingly yourself. Now stop playing like a little girl and talk to us like an equal.

Barbara stood for a while in the corridor, but skulked soon back. She slumped in the comfy chair besides Bruce’s bed, hiding her face on her hands. Gordon nodded at him over her head his expression between something like annoyance and admiration.

That little slump of trouble in his future daughter-in-law’s belly was three years old now. Dick had insisted they marry even if Bruce had advised against it. Babs needs security, Dick had answered.

But push from the society, that device giving Dick his values, ideas, and inspirations, it had changed too much, treating people like they were children until their late thirties. From Bruce’s point of view people nowadays were seldom mature enough for stable relationships, they had no natural respect for the business deal called marriage, as it had been between Bruce’s parents. Unlike Thomas and Martha Wayne, Dick and Barbara had no stone carved, mutual coals or prearranged roles. No, everything was on the drawing board, and ended in heartbreak and chaos like Bruce had predicted.

Dick had left to Nevada alone, or escaped as was Bruce’s assess of the situation. Babs had stayed in Gotham, claiming little Thomas deserved security. The statement was laughable when they were talking about the crime capital of the country, but obviously both of them had whetted their swords and decided to dive into them, making themselves martyrs of their causes.

Now Dick was back, but still confused, torn between what he wanted and what was expected. If his son really knew what he wanted anymore. Bruce had once wanted to be a fighter, a strategist, a famous general, and like Dick he too would have achieved his ideal role if something life altering hadn’t happened. For Bruce it had been his older brother and parents dying in a cholera outbreak when they were visiting their mother’s relatives in the old country. That meant Bruce had to forget his career dreams as he became the head of the family and the family business as well as the guardian of his unmarried older sisters. He had been in the tender age of nineteen, and hell if anybody had asked if he wanted the responsibility.

Dick was clever, quick witted young man, but at school he had been more interested in his gymnastics than the actual school work. If he wanted to stay in Gotham with his wife and son… well. There were always Starbucks or the Wayne Enterprises, if every other plan turned into nothing.

“If it means losing Babs and Tommy, my dreams are not worth the shit. Are you disappointed? All those private trainers. Must have cost you a pretty penny.”

“I am not disappointed as long as I see curiosity for life in your eyes. Barbara may change her mind. It could be you all end up in somewhere new.”

She had been dead set against moving with Dick to Nevada. That had been the cause of the main row, but even Bruce’s feeble people skills made him suspect it was just the clearest manifesto of their other problems. “She blames my gypsy spirit. She hesitates to put her trust on us as a couple when leaving is so easy for me.”

“Leaving is easy when there is something to come home to.”

His comment made Dick misty-eyed again, and when his son bent to circle him in a careful hug, Bruce pondered briefly what his doctor father would have thought about their emotional displays. Probably he would have been confused and worried.  _ Emotions of grief and joy were  _ passive, self-referential, and asthenic. Better suited for women and other weak, powerless human beings. 

“Well”, he mumbled. It was still hard for Bruce, to display himself so openly. “Good, good. Alfred, I presume you have made his room ready?”

“Am I a maid service too, master Bruce? Should us triple my salary? Master Richard has two perfectly healthy hands. I suggest he uses them.”

“Indeed home again. Thanks, Al.”

He slapped the old man on the shoulder. Alfred’s muted smile wasn’t anything but indulged. From their little trinity Dick had always been his favorite. “Anytime you need to be put into your place, master Richard. Anytime.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Wayne manor was an enchanted castle. It lived in its own time zone, in contrast to the outside world. When the world was sleeping the castle came alive. But when it was bright and light outside, Alfred pulled heavy curtains over every window and slot.

It was a huge place full of haunted corners and endless corridors. His bare feet felt cold when Dick stood in the corridor, hiding behind a tall decorative flower pillar. He was afraid to move though. The shadows would see and run after him again.

Dick was almost twelve years old. He shouldn’t be too scared to sleep in his bed alone. But every time he closed his eyes he saw his parents and blood, so much blood he thought if it was collected to the basin somebody would come and drown him into it.

The shadows whispered with familiar voices, but he never found anything but cobwebs and dust. Alfred was a lazy cleaner, he knew with the adult’s understanding.

A forbidden slice of light tempted him again. He sneaked slowly forward. It was the only open door in the corridor and the only one Alfred had warned him not to explore. But how bad it could be? It could not be blood and dead bodies again, and anything else was alright. He was a circus brat, he was not easily surprised or awed.

How wrong he was again.

On the surface the place was an ordinary bedroom. There were lots of computer screens, but all except one were black and lifeless. A few tables with hospital equipment surrounded a man in the bed. He was covered with a blanket as high as to his jaw and his head had sunk deep into the fluffy pillows.

“Bruce?” he asked, because it wasn’t Alfred, and there shouldn’t be any other people in this place. Dick squeezed his eyes. The figure in the bed didn’t look like the man who had lifted him up and circled him with his arms when he was lying down on arena besides his dead parents, his legs given out with the grief. He was tiny for an eleven years old, so the man didn’t have to be like their power guy Hercules to hold him up. But now he was lying there himself, so still it was horrible. Dick took a hold of his arm and shook him, trying to make him react.

Nothing happened at first, so he shook harder. A big lump of grief and panic was blocking his throat, making it difficult to breath. He slumped over the man’s chest and buried his face into the sheet. “What is wrong with you?” he cried. “Please, wake up! Are you going to die too? You were okay last night. Please, please don’t die. I don’t want to be alone.”

_Dick. It is alright._

Dick stuttered. The voice had been wrong, didn’t sound human at all. But it was a voice, which meant there had to be somebody in the room with him. “Who was that?”

_It is me._

Dick looked around. Nothing had changed except now Bruce’s eyes were half open so it looked like he was looking at Dick’s direction.

_Hello._

He lowered his palm over Bruce’s mouth and touched Bruce’s upper lip. “Bruce, are you talking with a robot voice without moving your lips? Are you a ventriloquist?”

Of course a circus brat had come to the most obvious conclusion. Bruce’s eyelids fluttered briefly.

_N_ _o._ _I talk_ _through_ _the_ _computer by moving my eyes._

“Why don’t you move?”

Alfred looked less wrinkled and he had more hair, but who eleven year old who had just lost his parents would notice something like that? So this had to be a dream. A memory.

“I am so terrible sorry, master Bruce. He sneaked from me.”

_He does that, doesn’t he? Did you have a daymare again?_

“Yeah.”

_Alright. Alfred, he can sleep here. If you want I mean. Better here than with Alfred. He snores._

Dick woke up. His very adult head wasn’t against Bruce’s chest but on his body pillow.

This was his old room. There were always those same threats to decorate it into a gym or a library. First one Bruce didn’t need and second ones he had aplenty.

Bruce and Alfred hadn’t changed a thing. His old medals hanged on the wall. The prizes stood on the shelf. His school books, they looked like nobody had opened them and studied with a gusto.

Bruce was a bookworm, always learning something new. Had he been disappointed because Dick wasn’t the same?

_What_ _is the best thing_ _about_ _failing_ , Bruce had said to him as he came home after blowing his first audition. _You get to_ _train more the things you love. Then_ _try agai_ _n and do better._

“I messed everything up, Alfred.”

His marriage, Dick meant. His work, and what was the worst, he wasn’t even half a dad to his son a two-hundred-year-old dead guy had been to him. The old butler was sitting at the side table near the sink, grinding his kitchen knifes. His brows knitted together, as always when Dick started to get whiny. “At least you are not the one whose skin has to be helped to peel off.”

There was that. Dick went to the fridge, but all the cake was already gone, probably sniffed away, and carrots were better to his figure anyway in those overly skimpy outfits the show costumiers preferred.

“Are you trying to better your night vision, Bugs Bunny?”

“Yeah? Like you have made some supper, you lazy old git. Or do you really think I don’t remember how we lived with take outs and peanut butter sandwiches? Tell me about Superman. Why was dad so pissed off at him?”

Alfred considered the question so profoundly Dick thought he wasn’t going to answer. “As you know there were casualties”, Alfred said mildly. “After careful analysis, it seemed like Superman was not delayed on purpose. He was in Philippines when the fire started, helping the victims of that horrible garbage slide.”

“Alright. No superhero fight then. Another thing. Babs said his father was promoted out of blue. There would have been guys with more years and political savvy to be chosen as the next commissioner, and James surpassed them all for some reason. Had Bruce something to do with that?”

“Aren’t we playing Paranoid again.”

Dick snorted. “In this house? Always. Bruce did it, didn’t he? Pushed his influence and got my father-in-law promoted?”

Alfred didn’t admit right away, but he was devious enough not to deny Dick’s words either.

“As you well know, you father likes courageous men who meet his undeniably high standards of values.”

“So he puts Bab’s father in a harms way. Doesn’t he understand how many instant enemies James got because his meddling, and I am talking about only those inside the police department.”

“I am sure master Bruce is aware of all the challenges. As he is assured our new commissioner is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”

Dick gave Alfred a dirty look, biting his carrot like wanting to crush the poor vegetable to its death. “Like the last time, you mean.”

A direct accusation raised some reaction from the stoic butler. “Tell me, master Richard”, Alfred begin with deceptively mild tones. “What ever you think master Bruce have to do with the works of a lonely madman, who wanted to revenge some imaginable wrongdoings?”

“Babs was nervous, that’s all”, Dick back-pedaled under Alfred’s scrutiny. They were in the kitchen, so why not a little kitchen psychology thrown into the mixing bowl.

“It seems the absence of her mother had leaved that girl somewhat feeling no basic security”, Alfred was giving his analysis. “Not a good base to endure even normal suffering the life inevitably throws over the people.”

Alfred’s lecture tone was built to be beyond annoying, but Dick couldn’t deny there were some truth in his words. “There is that. And a man who walks from his family to preen to the ogling public in a glitter suit is not an epitome of security or classical values either.”

The knife Alfred had been working with bumped hard against the marble desk. The old man inhaled and obviously counted to ten, because the grinding stone was put besides the blades with a more moderate gesture. “Master Richard, please don’t try my patience. Your situation is not that simple cut and you yourself as master Bruce know it perfectly well. Nobody is judging you but yourself, whatever you will decide.”

Yeah right. Like Dick hadn’t spent his lifetime wondering how did Bruce see him. If he was ever going to be good enough.

_How do you see me?_ That was the question in this house, wasn’t it?

What did Dick see? It was always the same, even when Bruce lay there bedridden, but especially when he was up and about. The man who had rushed by his side from the stand had been tall and sleek. He had long white hair and a thin face, and when he smiled it was as sharp as his flippant sentences. Only years later Dick realized he had designed Bruce after a magician who had been working in the circus sometime when Dick was a kid.

How he had argued with Jason over the matter! His younger brother always claimed Bruce was a stout man with a thick, brown beard which made him look like a young Santa Claus. Nowadays they both knew what they saw when they looked at Bruce was only an interpretation of their own imagination, helped by pheromones Bruce’s glands emitted. It was Bruce’s camouflage. Part of his glamour, which concealed an apex predator.

When he hugged or touched Bruce he still felt all of it: a frog jacket the magician had wore, a silk of his black and red cape. Sometimes Dick wondered would it be different if he really concentrated, but what if he then touched only empty air? Or something slimy or rough or spiky?

Or like now. More burned and rotting flesh ready to be peeled away like a snake shedding his skin.

Alfred gave the knives in front of him a careful consideration before he chose two of them.

“Just think about him as a big human kebab skewer, master Richard”, Alfred said and winked at him.

An idea about what those two were going to do made Dick ready to puke into his mouth.

“I has heavily nauseated myself during the first time years go. Then he insisted he did it alone. So nowadays I just bite my cheek for distraction or take a risk master Bruce will be accidentally cutting his willie off while peeling his tender places. You know how impatient he can get.”

Peeling didn’t actually hurt, but it still needed deliberation. For Bruce and Alfred to do the deed by themselves it took almost three hours. Dick could have joined in and make it go faster. He could see Bruce wasn’t exactly happy when they met in the corridor. He hated to waste his less painful hours.

Bruce was going to the shower. He was already naked of course. His shoulder-long white hair were shiny and lean body pale but powerful as always, but wet stains of puss and dark blood his steps left on the corridor floor told the reality in front of his very eyes was just an illusion.

_Not going to puke,_ Dick ordered himself. _N_ _ot going to puke._ _This is_ _good practice for_ _T_ _ommy’s future stomach bugs._

“Jeez”, he outed. The voice was hoarse, he didn’t sound like himself. “I though the men from the Victorian era would have more modesty than to roam around in their birth suits.”

Bruce harrumphed and closed the bathroom door at his face. He seemed to be alright. Kind of.

Dick smirked and knocked on the wood. “Hey, dad! When do I get to meet Superman?”

The shower was put on. Dick didn’t hear what Bruce answered, if anything.


	5. Chapter 5

The vermin were becoming bolder. The rumor had it the Guardian of Gotham had died in the huge fire which ravaged three city blocks in the poorer neighborhood in the East side. Perhaps Bruce would let them keep their feeble hopes a few nights more. There were two pressing and important matters which prevented him to concentrate on the street level beat work. Two different investigations. One of them was pressing to his city, the other for the whole world.

But first, the fire. He was sure the fire wasn’t accident like the news had stated. Perhaps it had been a gas leak, but it didn’t mean those couldn’t be triggered. He just had to hope the police did its job at those nights he wasn’t able to patrol. And talking about the police...

There he was again, on the roof of the main police station. Eating his late snack, having a cigarette, his co-workers thought. What was the real reason was their so called mail box besides the elevator machine room.

Bruce checked there were no new cameras installed and made his landing. The spying eyes didn’t matter anyway; he used a skintight mask under his cowl to conceal his true appearances. He had learned early on his powers were useless against mechanical devices. A photo or video would show him in his whole monstrous glory, and yes, that wasn’t a picture you would use in your social media account if you didn’t want to attract people with a serious death wish fetish.

The lit of the can for the cigarette butts was closed, which meant there was mail for him. As was usual nowadays, it was a little, watertight bag with a memory stick. Bruce took that and was about to leave when he glimpsed at the lonely figure at the edge of the roof. His back was turned and shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world was pushing him down. The Altas of Bruce’s choice, but it had been necessary. An honest man was hard to find in the mud pool which was Gotham City’s police department.

“Such a filthy habit.”

Gordon gasped and swirled around. The surprise had made him to drop his umbrella, but not his cigarette which he stumped on the rail behind him. The umbrella was blown over the edge and was falling and spinning towards the alley mouth before the wind lifted it again, landing it on the fire escape of the near building. What a photo op for the classic black and white, a middle aged cop in his trench coat and Bruce slowly separating himself from the shadows. Gordon had taken a few hasty steps forward, but he halted at a respectable distance, trying to peep into the darkness.

Bruce didn’t want to confuse him any longer. They met in the middle of the roof. What the man in front of him was seeing? A creature with a face of a human bat? An immaculate porcelain skin of a movie vampire added with two long eye-teeth?

Bruce didn’t ask, but Gordon was so much his feet on the ground kind of guy that he probably saw only a chiseled human jaw and lips turned into a permanent scowl. “It is you, isn’t it?” he uttered. His hands made a move towards the breast pocket of his coat but halted midway, wanting a new cigarette or perhaps to touch his gun.

Gordon shook his head as denying himself any artificial consolations. “I bet you already got our mail. I should have guessed. You helped my two predecessors. Grogan was dumb like a post and still his task force solved cases nobody was able to crack. Now we have aliens coming in peace and owning superpowers which look more like CGI than real life. An idea of a hundred-year-old vigilante doesn’t make me exactly flame out.”

He indeed seemed unruffled. As determinant to do the right thing as he had been in Bruce’s bedside, talking how his daughter was having Bruce’s grandson.

“Hundred years, Commissioner?”

“That or you are some secret clan or organization of crime-fighters. From father to son hobby like in comic books. _The Phantom: Ghost Who Walks.”_

Perhaps Bruce had made a right choice. Perhaps, after some time, Gordon would be able to handle the whole truth. He came closer and saw how Gordon struggled to keep his feet planted on the roof and felt a faint disappointment. What the policeman saw had to be something scary to make him react that way. But never mind, Bruce wasn’t here to gather new members for a book club.

“I am not going to hurt your, Commissioner. Not after all the trouble I went through to get you in your new position of power.”

That was a good sentence to rattle a man’s self-worth. Gordon’s inhale was barely audible but told Bruce he was surprised. The feeling was soon replaced by dubious annoyance.

“Well, I don’t know what kind of deal you stroke with the former commissioners, but I am not going to show my appreciation by turning my back to any transgressions. So if you thought to get yourself a new puppet you better choose again.”

Bruce couldn’t help dark mirth bubbling from his throat. He laughed, which made Gordon shudder. “You don’t serve me, Gordon. You serve our city and her people.”

“As long as we understand each others. But I have a question. You have operated from the shadows all these decades. Now you decided to come to open. Why?”

“Now was the time.”

“Time for what?”

“Time to blend in.”

Gordon wouldn’t have been his first choice if he hadn’t been quick-witted besides his integrity. “Superman”, he said, understanding immediately Bruce’s intent. “You are both good at showmanship. If we are starting to do co-ops, we will be needing a more steady line of communication than clips in the jar.”

The idea was worth of serious consideration. Gordon would develop something on his own, but now the other issue taking his time from the patrol had arrived. He made a silencing gesture with his hand. Gordon’s hand went onto his gun, but that wasn’t needed or making any difference to a man who could not be harmed by mere bullets.

A meekly looking Superman raised from the alley like a ghost from the toilet bowl. Gordon huffed, his hand grasping his chest instead. “The hell with you lot! Someday I will be an old man and get a heart attack because of your antics. I am going to leave you guys to chat. Had to change my damn pants.”

Gordon disappeared to the staircase. First time Bruce was pleased about the fact he didn’t have much of a heartbeat to accelerate or breath to hitch. The pictures did a poor job to adduce Superman’s allurement. The alien hovering two feet over the roof was breathtaking. The suit, the hair, the smile. He was like an advertisement for a perfect man, and Bruce blessed his cowl which concealed his awed ogling.

Mind-reading didn’t belong to Superman’s impressive set of powers. If he had known what Bruce was thinking, he wouldn’t have acted like a kid his hand deep in a cookie jar.

“I was just… I was flying by and saw you and…”

“Yeah, right”, Bruce drawled. “Not snooping around or anything.”

“That was the new commissioner, wasn’t it? You kind of know him then?”

If he thought his adorable and earnest awkwardness was making Bruce to spill his beans he had to thing his strategy anew. Bruce hovered slowly nearer and took a loud lungful from the air around him. “You smell is unique.”

Now the doofus tried to sniff discreetly his armpits.

“Not in that way. The general way you smell. Not like a human.”

“Oh! Well, I don’t sweat.”

“No old gym smells. That helps you to get lots of ladies.” Bruce made his lips turn into salacious smirk, making a smaller but more pointed sniff right in front of the alien. “And a few guys too.”

Bruce observed how his meaning sunk into Superman’s mind. The poor guy was soon as scarlet as his cape.

“I don’t know about that.” He started circling Bruce, in a desperate need to change the subject. “I see no mechanical device. No wings. But you can fly.”

“So can you.”

“I just… I wasn’t just going by”, Superman confessed, halting besides him. “I have been around lately, looking for you. I wanted to see you were alright after that… you know.”

“After the fire”, Bruce said tensing. But no, now wasn’t the time to throw accusations. He could utter them later, first he had to make sure his prey was deep in his pouch. “That was very kind of you. I am most obligated.”

“Yeah.” The earnest and hopeful pair of eyes were turned toward Bruce. “There was… I kind of want to know you better.”

“Alright.”

“I mean that… Wait a minute! Alright?”

“That’s what I said.” Bruce leaped into the air. When Superman didn’t follow him right away, he stopped and made an impatient gesture with his hand. “Come on! I know a more convenient place to chat, if you don’t want to try the Gotham Specialty, to brood on the gargoyle in the rain.”

That earned him a brief, belly warming laughter. “Oh right! I can imagine you doing something like that.”

Their banter had put Superman at ease which evaporated after Bruce landed on the terrace of the penthouse apartment. Superman was left hovering over the plantings, looking like he would bolt any minute.

“Uh… Shadow-guy? This place looks quite posh. Are you sure we are welcomed here?”

“I suppose. This is my rental.”

It indeed was. Bruce’s little getaway cabin was actually the whole 24th floor of the high-rise in the money district of Gotham central.

“Your rental”, Superman repeated as Bruce pushed a code into the panel and the door to the terrace slid open. Bruce stepped inside. His quest was still hesitating at the doorstep. “Uh, excuse me? Shadow-guy...”

“Manta ray is probably out of the question?” When Superman sputtered something incoherent Bruce continued: “If you want to call me something, Bat is alright. Please don’t use hyphen like they do in the papers. Do you want a tour?”

Superman was turning this side and that like a garden help who had stepped the first time into the house of his employer and didn’t want to smudge the floors or pump into something breakable. Bruce took a grip of his arm and fly besides him across the living area. “I rented this furnished. Please, don’t ask me about the styles or color schemes, I have no idea. I pay people to do those things for me.”

“Alright. That’s why...”

“Why what?” Bruce asked, when Superman didn’t continue in his own accord.

“Your real home is probably different”, the alien mumbled in an apologetic tone. “I mean, here is not much of anything that says you.”

“And how do you know? What if I am all plain earthly color, mostly brown. A bit like a hotel room with these expensive design thingies.” On the drawer there stood a wooden sculpture, or at least Bruce assumed it was a work of art. He couldn’t invent any practical use for it anyway. “You got me there. I have no idea what that is supposed to be. I thought I had a little more introspective of myself.”

Superman pushed his arm. “Maybe nothing more than aesthetically pleasing form? Or perhaps it is you surprising yourself?”

“You think I am aesthetically pleasing?”

“Uh… you are like social media. You understand everything awry by purpose. Do you really need to have a pool both inside and outside?”

“Yes, that is my secret, I am addicted to this.” Bruce had started to take off his boots while speaking. He flew over water, only his toes touching the surface, sliding over the pool like a giant-sized water bug. He was making shapes. Spirals, not hearts, that would have been too mawkish.

“You are strange”, Superman uttered, but looked like he wanted to give it a try. Bruce was sure his toes would be as perfect as all parts of him; pinkish and quite lickable. Bruce’s toenail were actual talons, and those chafed inside the boots.

“Want to make a real dip?”

Superman gave Bruce a sly look. A rosy blush still covered his cheeks, but not that much as before. He was adjusting. “Looks like I packed my swimming trunks with my other cape.”

“Is that right”, Bruce drawled and stared significantly at the red trunks. And just like that the stuttering country bumpkin was back.

“They are not… they are making me to look not so…”

“They cover your junk better than the blue onesie?”

“Well… yeah?”

“One shouldn’t fly junk flying so to speak.”

Superman covered his face with his hands, despairing. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what? Talking about your junk?” Bruce had lowered his voice into a sultry whisper. “I don’t know yet if there is that much to talk about.”

He said to himself his behavior was to keep Superman unbalanced, but he couldn’t deny he was starting to enjoy himself. It had been ages Bruce had engaged in the social games, which he had in his youth hated with a passion. But now there was no reason he couldn’t flirt and tease to his heart’s content, no need to run away from the matrons of Gotham and their unmarried daughters. Even the fairest of them all had been worm food for decades.

Never mind. “Please be quiet about my body parts”, Superman sighed. “Lucky you, you don’t have to worry about things like that with your body armor.”

“We can’t all be invulnerable, can we Clark?”

“Yeah, that… what?”

They were back in the kitchen area. Bruce opened the fridge door and showed a full jar of iced tea. “Want some home made beverage, Clark?”

Look at that. One five letter word and Superman’s rosy cheeks turned ashy white. “How did you… how come?”

“Didn’t I say something about your x-rays?”

Bruce didn’t think he would feel Superman using his x-ray vision on him, but that had been a fair guess. Superman jerked and turned his gaze toward the floorboards. “Sorry. I am sorry, it is a habit. But I… how do you...”

The guy had no poker face. It would have been hilarious if not a dark indent Bruce had in mind.

“What’s the matter? Why is your heart stuttering, Clark? Clark Joseph Kent, a son of Jonathan and Martha Kent, a farmboy from Smallville, Kansas turned into a big city reporter. Who writes features about himself. A bit, how could I say, egocentric of you.”

“It is mostly Lois who...” Superman halted, and his face turned, if possible, even whiter. “What… Bat, what is going on? Why is your heart not beating at all?”

So no x-rays, but still snooping. “It needs more time.”

“What do you mean… Oh”, Superman realized. “It is very, very slow. How can you… what are you?”

Bruce didn’t bother to huff at the insipid question. “Now I guess what you are thinking, but I save your time and trouble. This apartment has been rented through so many middleman it will escape your research skills, Clark.”

“You sure like to repeat my name. How did you find out?”

Bruce had poured the tea into two tall classes. It was liquid and plant based, Bruce’s body could use it. “I am the world’s greatest detective.” Or at least Alfred said so. Maybe the old man had used his usual irony.

Actually the clue had been Bruce’s sense of smell. He had gotten a good sniff in the sewers and like everybody else he had already deduced Superman’s base of operations was located in Metropolis. He had started sniffing around Lois Lane and Clark Kent, two reporters who had written most articles about the alien. Wasn’t he surprised when he realized the clumsy reporter guy with the ugly glasses was the alien demi-god in disguise.

Or maybe not. Not surprised. Superman turned his awkwardness to the maximum to play a human reporter, but it was all there when he was wearing his uniform.

“Drink something”, Bruce asked, offering a glass. “You look like you would need it.”

“Well, I don’t think so. All horror movies begin like this. _The children of the night… Oh what music they make._ ”

A movie quote. Bruce bet Clark hadn’t read Stoker’s original novel. People always made those exaggerated moves with their faces when they recited famous lines. Or lines they thought were famous. Or funny. Bruce stared until Clark started squirming.

“You have hardly any heartbeat.” Bruce was given a hasty explanation. “You don’t like heat and act only at nights, and you…”

What was said was mumbled so silently a normal human being wouldn’t have heard it. Not to show all your cards, as Alfred said.

“Your suit makes you look like a vampire”, Clark repeated, when he wasn’t given any reaction.

“Not like a manta ray?”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind. What if I were a vampire? Are you gonna stake me?”

Now it was red cheeks again. Bruce didn’t think the innuendo had been so strong. Or perhaps it was about Bruce’s hand which was under his hipbone, quite near his crotch.

“I-I can hardly… You are not eating people, are you?”

He put Clark’s tea on the table and took a sip from his own glass. “I am mostly vegan.”

“Mostly.”

Sugar was a plant too. He licked his lower lip to taste the sweetness. “Perhaps I can be persuaded to make an exception.”

Clark made a snort, which could be interpret as a relieved giggle. “You would notice soon enough my skin is too hard for your teeth.”

Now was Bruce’s turn to smirk, or was he showing off his choppers. Lips wide his gums sported two rows of needle sharp teeth, which reminded him of those of shark’s but his looked like they had gone through an orthodontic treatment. What was Clark seeing instead? Some pearly whites in a Hollywood handsome face? Probably, because he hadn’t run to the hills.

“Do you want to bet your chastity on your impermeability?”

“My…” Clark was so red Bruce thought he would combust on the spot. “Not… not my life?”

“Vegan, I told you.”

Bruce felt Clark’s eyes on his back as he left towards a cosy looking love seat. What did he see? A handsome jock wearing a half mask and dark cape? A feisty emo with his rebel gear? Something Anne Ricey? Bruce hadn’t been wide of the mark with his chosen strategy. Clark’s pupils and heartbeat showed a clear panicky interest in his doings.

Clark sat down besides him, his face determined like a little kid whom his older friend had dared to do something dangerous. Bruce took an apple from the fruit bowl and nodded to Clark he was free to chose his own refreshments.

“I thought... But you can eat too?”

“Not exactly, but I like the smell”, Bruce confessed. “And looking pretty people eating. Perhaps banana?”

Bruce sniffed his apple a suggestive smile on his lips. Oh he was being bad, but the blue boy scout was so hilarious. Clark took a pear and ate it with three mighty bites, glaring at him.

“Do you always come so heavily on total strangers?” he mumbled, his mouth still half full of fruit. His determined stare had found Bruce’s gaze, as Bruce had predicted. Clark was an emotional eater. Next he peeled an orange and gobbled it up without worry about the juice pouring down his jaw. Bruce kept his eyes steady even if he really, really wanted to follow that delicious stream down to the magnificent pillar of Clark’s neck.

After a few more apples and yes, one banana, Clark’s movements slowed down. When Bruce asked him to take more his answer came back slurred. He had been sitting taunt on the edge of the couch, but now he relaxed, pushing his head on the couch pillow and letting his legs slide apart and straighten.

A few more minutes and Clark’s eyes fogged. It was nice to see his glamour in work after all. It had just needed extra time, and Bruce to be near starving his cloud of pheromones to be strong enough for Superman’s alien physiology.

“Hey, Clark. Why don’t you tell me about those powers of yours.”

Clark hesitated and looked like a person finding himself between a rock and a hard place, waiting for Bruce’s admonition. “I… I don’t think I am allowed to tell. My pa wouldn’t approve.”

His accent was getting thicker and he blinked trying to focus. Bruce couldn’t allow Clark to slip away, not when he was so near his target. He touched Clark’s cheek, and the guy goddammit nuzzled into his palm. Bruce swallowed. He removed his hand and Clark’s let out a tiny unhappy sound. Bruce’s plan was way beyond unethical, but he had to push on. It was too important to hear what the alien was hiding from the rest of the world.

“It is alright, Clark. You can trust me.” Bruce took a hold of Clark’s hand and the gesture calmed his victim down again. How long and beautifully formed fingers Clark had! Could he play piano? For a few seconds Bruce imagined them together on the piano stool, playing a giddy melody which had been his mother’s favorite.

“Clark, listen to me. It is very important you answer me truthfully.”

Oh those eyes. So full of trust for Bruce to crack.

“Tell me Clark, do you have any vulnerabilities? Is there more of your kind? Tell me everything.”


	6. Chapter 6

Clark woke up with a mother of all headaches, which was extraordinary. The last time he had experienced pain in his head was when his superhearing had kicked off and in the more muted scale when he got his heatvision, but those occasions had been like baby aches compared to this one. Oh boy, this had to be a punishment he had heard people talking about after partying two nights in a row.

He tried to hide his head between fluffy pillows, but the idea didn’t do much good either. Clark groaned and rose to the sitting position, his back against the head of the bed. The bed. Something wasn’t right in this picture, and he opened his lids some more wondering how come even his lashes hurt. His blurry eyes took in details from his surroundings and everything seemed to be…

Not in order. Why did he had thought it was alright, to wake up in the strange bed, in the strange apartment? He glimpsed too fast to his right and a wave of nausea shot through his head and abdomen. The room swayed, and he had to take a hold from the mattress to keep himself upright.

There was nobody besides him in the bed. He didn’t know why the thought made him first disappointed. Who there should be anyway? Lois, who was so out of his league she was living in another universe? Had he been in one of those infamous Daily Planet office parties people whispered about and went home with somebody, perhaps that cute receptionist whom Lois always teased him about? No, that couldn’t be right. He had been at work and left as usual, changed to his other work clothes and flown to Gotham.

_Gotham. The Bat._

Clark needed another minute to remember what had happened. They had talked at the police station and then arrived to Bat’s apartment. That had to be it. He was not in the main bedroom, but one of the guest ones Bat had showed him during the house tour. But why couldn’t he recall how did he get there?

He remember eating fruits. Perhaps they were drugged. Clark dismissed the theory immediately. Alcohol or drugs didn’t have an effect on him, and why would Bat have him roofied?

His mother’s worried eyes rose into his mind. His parents hadn’t been overly pleased when he explained his plans to them, how he would move to Metropolis and help people with his powers. His mother had pondered other kinds of dangers than his son waking up in the strange bed, in the strange clothes not knowing what had happened to him.

His former thoughts of Bat’s motives were so naive they made him groan in despair. He had only seen this guy, a hero saving people from the burning building and thought… He didn’t know what he had thought as he remembered smidgens of their conversation. It was like with Peter Ross, asking Pete if he wanted to be his friend. But he had been six years old that time. Bat had definitely wanted something else than to climb the trees or search arrow heads or read comic books in the loft of the barn.

Somehow Bat had gotten Clark out of his uniform, which was hanging folded over the back of a chair. Clark studied himself and saw a strange T-shirt and silken boxers. Their feel over his crotch was intimate and sinful, and he started to blush over the idea Bat had changed them on him. Which would mean the man had seen his junk and everything. He pushed his face into the pillow to hide himself from his thoughts as his headache doubled its effort to slip his skull open.

He flew into the bathroom and pulled T-shirt over his head with shaking hands. The shower was a tempting idea, but he had to see. He tensed his neck muscles, but could find nothing out of ordinary. He snorted at himself but it turned into painful hiss. What he had expected? Puncture holes? What a laughable idea. First of all, vampires didn’t exist, and secondly, any wound in him would heal immediately.

But aliens didn’t exist either. And Bat had been…

_Tall, dark, handsome_ , his mind whispered. _Not eating, no heartbeat,_ _mysterious,_ _seductive._

Clark had been like under strong hypnosis, blabbered out everything he knew about his origins and powers. And then Bat had asked…

The shower and headache forgotten, Clark used his superspeed to put his suit back on. Bat had asked if he had vulnerability, and like an idiot Clark had told him about the meteorite shower which bombed Smallville the same week his parents found his rocket. There had been green, alien rocks, which his pa had to gather away around their farm because they had made Clark sick. Pa had never told him where he had hidden the dangerous load, so the first logical place for Bat to search more information would be his parents’ home.

Clark broke the sound barrier as soon as he could do that without making windows crack. Panicky tears leaking from his eyes dried out before they reached his cheeks. He pushed himself more than ever before, his abused head throbbing, a cry of sorrow and helpless rage making his throat tight.

There was a barn. A familiar house with two empty rocking chairs in the porch. He called his parents and dashed inside. He had searched the house from the cellar to the roof in a minute, too agitated to halt and use is superhearing or x-ray vision for the task.

Nobody in the barn either. Smoke house, chicken house, small tool shed, pigeon house were also empty except their usual residents. There was no blood or signs of struggle, but how could that be. He was an alien, sent here from the dying planet, and Bat, Bat was a mythical creature who sucked the life from other beings. Bat was a vampire, and those evil creatures, by their nature, loved to toy with their victims. Had he kidnapped Clark’s parents?

Clark collapsed on the stairs. His head hurt so much it was hard to think. How this could be happening? He had only wanted to help people with his powers, but instead landed into this nightmare. And now his parents were…

...coming from the town after grocery shopping. Which he could have heard if he hadn’t been so blinded by his own tumultuous fears.

His pa’s old light blue truck kept a discernible sound when the motor was running. The noise was something between a poor device suffocating and begging for to be let out of its misery. His pa prided himself a self-made man, but being a mechanic wasn’t on the top on his long list of achievements. A shame washed over Clark, when he realized he had forgotten to take care of the car during his last visit. Nowadays his parents assumed he was busy and would never ask him to use his time for such a mundane task.

Pa stopped in front of the house to let ma out with their shopping. She notice Clark when he stood up and hurried to take the bags from her. Her bright smile was muted by the fact he was still in his uniform. That was never a good sign, but she delayed her questions until they were all inside, the groceries were in their places in the cabinets and Clark had changed his clothes to jeans and washed-out T-shirt he had bought years ago from the concert of a local band, already demised.

Surrounded with the familiar things, his parents besides him at the kitchen table, should have make him feel better, but Clark wasn’t sure if deserved a relief. His mother reached out and took his hand, and then the tears came anew. He heard his his parents hearts, how they spiked, and a fresh wave of shame surged through him.

“I really screwed up big time”, he choked out. His pa had stood up, and he felt his hand on his shoulder, warm and alive. “I… I met this guy I thought was kind of cool, and I… I got hoodwinked really good. Just because I…”

His head dropped. “I was too eager to offer him my friendship. I saw him act so courageously and thought he was different than he was.”

He didn’t need to see how his parents changed glances over his head. “Son, are you talking about the fire? That masked fellow the papers call the Guardian of Gotham?”

Clark gave out a humorless laugh. “They should call him Bat. He is… He is not… I though...” 

His mother gave his fingers a tight squeeze. “Alright, out with it, Clark. What did he do? Did he hurt you? Did he hurt other people?”

“No, not exactly. But I though he had hurt you.”

“Why?”

Clark swallowed. “He asked about… Ma, he knows. I told him everything about myself, you…”

His parents engaged into their silent communication again after which his pa made a minuscule nod. “You must have trusted him very much”, his mother said with a careful tone.

“But that was it. I didn’t. I had just met him. I don’t know why I talked to him about my things. Ma, I think he is like me. He is not a human.”

“Another alien?” his pa wondered.

“No. He is something else. He has some kind of mind controlling powers.”

His pa cleared his throat. “Clark, are you sure? What if you just weren’t very…”

“What your pa means”, his ma interrupted with meaningful tones, “we all remember how besotted you were with Lex, and now what you have been talking about that co-worker of yours, this Lois. You are always pulled towards strong and independent personalities.”

His friend Lana had sometimes pondered if his way of attraction was subconscious from his part. A strong mind and spirit were the only way a mere human could feel to be Clark’s equal and that was why Clark searched those qualities from his partners.

He shook his head. “That was not it. And not all of it anyway. I think he is looking a way to control me. He is after those meteorite rocks which made me sick as a child.”

“Those green meanies.” Clark smiled a little as his mother used the name they had given to the space rocks. “So you thought he would come here looking for them.”

“Yeah, but now when I have time to think… I suppose he wouldn’t rush in here and start killing everybody. He has worked from the shadows this far, a splashy massacre doesn’t feel like his _modus operandi_.”

“We still watch CSI: Miami”, his ma reminded him. “You think he would use a stealthier approach?”

“Yeah”, Clark sighed. “Any strangers came to knock at your door lately?”

His parents looked at each others. “Now that you mention it”, his pa started. “That was an odd coincidence.”

“It certainly was”, ma confirmed.

Clark’s heart skipped a beat. His pa took a few steps from the table as if wanting to clear his thoughts. “Jonathan”, ma encouraged. “You talked with him more than me.”

“Yes, well. Your mother was feeding the birds and I was taking a nap in the porch.”

“Making his neck ache again.”

“Your mother is right as in all things. Anyway, when I opened my eyes, there was this posh older gent with a neat black suit and a bowler of all things. He spoke funny, and it took me awhile I realized it was the same accent they have in those British murder mysteries on TV.”

Clark’s lifted spirit was sinking rapidly again. The description was too much on the nose for the vampire’s day guardian he had met in the sewers.

“This is funny. Now that I think about it, I am not sure he said his name. But perhaps it was the situation. He was quite agitated. Their car had stopped working right in front of our gate and he asked if I knew where to call to get help.”

“And your father had never faltered in front of the impossible challenges.”

“Yes, well. It could have been something simple. That guy didn’t look like he knew anything about the cars, so I took my kit and went with him.”

“Even if there isn’t much to do with these modern cars with all their computer stuff.”

“But that was it, it wasn’t modern at all. I have seen cars like that only in the pictures and that one was easy to recognize by the lady on the prow. It was a real silver ghost from the 1920s.”

“Your father didn’t need more hypnosis after that.”

“No… Now after what Clark told us, perhaps that really was it. I recall there was this other guy. The passenger. He was younger, that I know, but anything else, you guess is as good as mine.”

“You really can’t remember how he looked like?” Clark asked.

“It a funny thing”, his father mumbled. “I kind of know, but… I remember how I thought such a pampered city slicker would be beyond helpless here in the middle of countryside in the broken car, but...”

“It was unusually mean from you, Jonathan.”

“Yes, I know.”

His father’s forehead wrinkled in worry. Clark didn’t wonder about his confusion. His father was a fair man. He wouldn’t disregard people just because they were used to the different lifestyle than him.

“I did something to the car and make it to work again. They were happy about it, that is all I remember.”

“Yes, I recall. You were so smugly satisfied the whole evening.”

“Wait a minute”, Clark realized. “The calendar… it is right, isn’t it? Now is Thursday.”

“Clark, what’s the matter?”

There was a calendar on the wall, hanging besides the window as always. But when he had been in the police station it had been Monday. Bat had used his powers to make him sleep almost three days through.

“Oh crap!” Clark realized. “My work! Perry and Lois and...”

“Clark!” his father admonished him. “Language.”

“Sorry, sir. Sorry, I… Pa, you have to tell me. After you gathered those meteorite rocks. Where did you dump them? They are not near here, aren’t they? I have never felt sick after you got rid of them.”

“No, I packed them in the truck and moved them to the old Jefferson’s place. You know the farm three miles from here which had been abandoned for decades. They never got their wells right, always dry. I filled one of the holes. But I don’t know if they are deep enough for you to fly over the place.”

“Pa, I don’t think I have to worry about that anymore.”

He said hasty goodbyes. He had made his ma worried by skipping the dinner she had started to prepare, but his stomach was a nervous mess and food was the last thing in his mind. There was a chaos waiting for him at work he didn’t want to think about, and when he got to the Jefferson’s place he didn’t feel the usual nausea or weakness delivered by the green meanies, and this time it was definitely an ominous thing. There was the old well and marking as if something had been lifted from its depth and carried to the vehicle, possible a van, and if Clark hadn’t seen the traces of their handiwork, there was a message in the bottle helping him with the clue.

The bottle was hanged from the dead trunk which had sometime been a living fruit tree. Inside was one of those plastic vampire teeth kids used on Halloween. Clark snorted before he could help himself. Subtle Bat was not. He imagined the guy pushing and inching the teeth through the narrow neck, giggling by himself while doing it. _Stop it_ , Clark commanded himself. There really was nothing cute in the situation or Bat as the note besides the toy confirmed.

_Are we freaking out yet?_ the  writing said, and under  that obvious conclusion was an invitation. Or perhaps  Bat was placing  an order.  Home delivered meals and Clark on  the menu. 

_Our usual place. Fri 11 pm._


	7. Chapter 7

“That was reckless, master Bruce.” That was the line Alfred had been repeating constantly after they got home from Kansas. “Making appointments as this were one of your lady mother’s tea parties. What if your little teasing makes him to rip your head off before you can dazzle him with your witty banter?”

“Now you think it is witty? How about… worth Oscar Wilde witty or normal witty?”

“Not exactly my point, master Bruce.”

Alfred was dusting the shelves in the library. That if anything should tell Bruce the old man was agitated; usually Alfred avoided any housework as if getting the laundry machine filled would give him some incurable disease.

The butler took two thick volumes and banged them together, obviously wanting Bruce’s head to be between them.

“But that is exactly what I mean”, Bruce stated, hovering to save the rest of his precious first editions from the rough handling. “If Superman takes his revenge by killing me, that proves he is dangerous and everything what I have done during the last few days is justified.”

“Yes, yes. Like a bull you probe with a sharp metal object is guilty if he happens to kill the matador.”

Bruce halted in the mid air. His arms were too full for him to see behind the books, but he got Alfred’s meaning. “So you are finally considering retirement? You remember you are not Renfield, you can resign anytime.”

A massive crash followed his careless statement. One could assume after all these years Bruce would know better.

“What did I say”, Bruce wondered to Dick. His son was lifting up the side table Alfred had toppled down while rushing out of the room. Dick didn’t cross his arms, they were in use, but otherwise he managed to radiate his annoyance. “Nothing, you said absolutely nothing. Just telling a man who considers you as his son to pack his bags and leave, because he is too old to have any real use for you around here.”

“I didn’t mean it that way”, Bruce defended. Or perhaps he had, but not in malice. He had been scared out of his pants when Alfred had confronted Superman in the sewers. Alfred was supposed to be his backup but stay in the safety of their home.

After their trip to Kansas, Bruce had been sidelined by Alfred’s insight again. His butler had been right. Bruce wanted so eagerly to meet Superman again, even if the guy would probably mash his head on the wall and grind him into the plaster for good measure, because it was the only legitimate way to avoid his son and the discussion which never stayed civil.

Alfred knew Bruce wasn’t skillful in the emotional stuff, but he still expected him to show some development in that department like he had moved along with science and tech. The machines, they were easy, as was the theoretical side of every new idea or ideology people had developed during the last two centuries, but Dick, Bruce had never before had a ward so clingy. So talkative and carrying his emotions on his sleeve. Bruce’s father had been a doctor, and he would have already suggested a brief visit to a sanatorium, to cure Dick from those fits of womanly hysteria.

So during the last few days Bruce had succeeded to agitate both his butler and his son with his pig-headed avoidance. They were nowhere to be seen as Bruce put on his suit and cowl and took a dive from the balcony of the Wayne manor. He gained altitude, to avoid spying eyes, and was hovering over the city in a record time.

He was expected. A blue and red clad figure was stepping a nervous circle in the terrace of his getaway apartment. Bruce ignored him and tapped the door code, letting them both in. He heard Clark halting besides the coach, gathering breath for the lecture to come. Bruce was minding nothing about it, but stretched his arms high above his head like a guy arriving home after a hard work day.

“What… What are you doing?”

What did people usually do after arriving home, they put their keys in the bowl next the door and took off their outerwear. Bruce had pushed his cowl off his head. He turned around to see Clark was standing frigid, wearing an expression of a man who had run to the wall at the full speed.

“B-but your secret identity?”

Bruce snorted. “With a guy who can see through the walls or use his telescopic vision to follow you home without  being seen,  some Kevlar filled half mask would be a joke. No, I believe in  _Mutually Assured Destruction._ As a reporter I assume you are civilized enough to know what that means.”

Clark knew his cold war terms. In this case it meant exactly what Bruce had said. Clark could step one foot wrong and get a nice gift of poisonous green rocks delivered right into his door steps.

“That is settled? Why don’t you help me with my zipper?”

Who ever had said attack was the best defense really knew his business. Bruce using two frontiers at the same time let the big boy scout out of the proper words. 

“By the way, did you bring your other trunks this time?”

Bruce had pulled the top of his suit over his head and was starting with his pants. Clark yelped and covered his eyes with his hand.

“You are unbelievable! Why the... Why are you doing this?”

“You can tell me all about it over here.”

Bruce headed to the direction of the swimming pool. He didn’t hear the steps, but felt the air moving on his skin, telling him Clark didn’t hover far behind.

“Was that an order? Am I your thrall now?”

Bruce snorted. “If you are you are the worst slave in the history of slavery. I wanted to give you a gift.”

“A gift?”

Clark raised his hand to his jugular, and Bruce laughed aloud. “Not that kind of gift. You were right. Your skin is impenetrable.”

“You tried to bite me while I was sleeping?”

Bruce smirked. “That was purely for scientific purposes, I assure you. And don’t look at me like that. I am not a damn rapist.”

“I didn’t assume”, Clark hesitated, realizing at the last moment how odd it would be for him to apologize. “But what about the gift?”

“Aren’t we eager! It is simple, Clark. You have probably heard people say you have to trust your heart or trust your guts. All I did was to show you how stupid advises those are.” 

“So… you assume my heart told me you are one of the good guys?”

“Obviously. Hopefully, next time you will be more careful when you follow tall, dark strangers to their lairs. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Bruce took a dive into the pool. The water was a tad too warm for his taste, but it still felt nicer than the tight containment of his suit. He kept underwater about two minutes, but the blue idiot was still there when he resurfaced. Perhaps there was some hope left for him.

“You made me sleep for three days. Nothing happened, except you poked around my mind.”

Bruce put his elbows on the edge and let his body float while observing the offended alien above him. “We all have our own set of superpowers.”

“Nice to hear you are in alignment with _your_ true nature and don’t consider your condition as a curse. It is pathetic how movie vamps always whine after their lost souls.”

The babyhero had finally gotten his claws out.

“I have taken a vow to protect the people of this city”, Bruce explained. “I would never spread this disease and especially not to someone who could with his powers suck the planet dry in a few days.”

“I would never…”

The famous last words. Bruce hopped to sit on the edge of the pool, leaving his feet in the water and other parts in plain sight. Clark averted his eyes and took a step aside, then remembered the topic of their conversation and took a few extra hops back toward Bruce, just to show his resistance against his cheap antics.

“Do you want to be friends?”

The honest and nosy question made Clark jerk. “I didn’t say I wanted to be that at the begin with”, he claimed with dignified tones.

“Come on”, Bruce huffed. “You might as well place an advertisement on your Facebook. A lonely superbeing wants to share his experiences. I feel the same.”

“You… you do?”

“Yes, but I am not you. Just think about how easily I controlled you. What if I have had a malicious intent? With your powers you are a weapon of mass destruction. You have to be more careful with yourself.”

_Or what_ was hanging in the air.

“Making me choose between you or the world would not be a good idea”, Bruce added with careful tones. Clark’s nose wrinkled as if he was smelling something rotten.

“So what if I do your first?” he claimed, then staggered to the halt and blushed. “I mean… do you in.”

Oh poor darling. You were already doing so well with your tough guy act.

“You won’t”, Bruce chagrined him. “Neither. That is a problem with you good-mannered country boys. You hesitate until you loss your change.”

Clark squatted besides him, turned so he stared Bruce into his eyes. “What do I have to do to have another one?”

Look at that! Was the doofus going to kiss him? He was going to kiss Bruce right on his horrible mouth to prove he wasn’t stunned by Bruce’s game. But of course the situation wasn’t horrible for Clark. Bruce’s glamour had to make him look mysterious and dashing. When Bruce turned his head away, something flashed in Clark’s eyes. Not triumph as Bruce first thought. More like disappointment.

“I have taken first steps for you”, he explained.

“Those space rocks.”

“Yes. The only known way to weaken you.”

Bruce saw the hesitation, a will to continue the arguments, so he hammered the last nail. “There is one more thing. Even if you promised to be more careful with strangers… Do you consider yourself a human?”

“Yes. Of course.” Clark managed to sound profoundly offended with three mere words. “I may have come from outer space, but I was raised here. The earth is the only home I know.”

“Then I hope you realize humans have mental disorders. They might have to be prone to the fits of rage. For example a psychosis could last for months. I made calculations how many days it would take for you to kill every men, woman, and child on the earth. It depends on the methods, but even if you do the deed with your two bare hands it will take surprisingly short time. I can show you a computer simulation...”

“No thank you!”

“As you will.” Bruce hopped back to the water and took a few laps, letting his words sank better in. But maybe one more time. _Repetitio est mater studiorum_ , as they said in his youth. “A psychosis is something you may snap out off on your own, but for you it will be only to find your parents and friends dead, your world destroyed by your own hand.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes I really do. Thank you.”

Bruce hovered out off the water and levitated in front of Clark, whose lips were pushed into a determined line. “I have sometimes thought about this”, he confessed. “How horrible things a guy with my powers could do if he puts his mind into it. Even if I never will… I _hope_ I never will. But that was good thinking ahead by your part. Thank you.”

Bruce huffed, leaving Clark to stand besides the pool and taking a short fly to the master bedroom. For his surprise Clark followed him. The glamour had made him imagine some clothes on Bruce, or he was adapting to the rules and regulations of the house which included a naked host.

Bruce entered the walk-in-closet, hummed a little when sorting out his suits. If one didn’t consider his teeth, elfish auricles, talon-like toenails and very sharp and sturdy fingernails, his body-shape was as it had been as a human. The blue suit would do nicely for this one. He put on underwear and socks before he emerged to the room carrying two hangers and his custom-made dress shoes.

“You are doing it again”, Bruce admonished him. “You are putting your trust on the person you don’t know anything about.”

“But you just explained your motives. Sounded solid to me. Why are you… Are you going to somewhere?”

Did Clark sound disappointed? Bruce gave him a brief, sharky smile. “You didn’t consider the possibility I could lie?”

“I mean… If you have to be somewhere, I could go.” Clark made a gesture towards the window. “Lie… of course you can do that, but I am yet to invent for what purpose. The world domination, perhaps?” Clark snorted. “Yeah, right. _Emperor Bat._ I researched you. You have been the Guardian of Gotham for a long time, aren’t you? As long as Wayne enterprises has done their much appreciated charity work. Their philanthropist CEO hasn’t been seen in public for fifteen years. He has an ALS disease, but that isn’t it, not really. He just has this little problem to operate in the day time.”

Bruce had gotten his shirt and pants on. Clark’s eyes were following when he made a flashy and overly complicated tie knot which had been his valet’s favorite so many decades ago.

“I am impressed. Look at you go, Hayseed. Just when you put your mind into things.”

Clark squinted his eyes suspiciously. Oh he was so cute, like an oversized puppy. “So you are not trying to deny it? You are really him? You are Bruce Wayne?

“Naturally. And his father. And grandfather and… you continue until the first decades of the 19th century.”

“Wow! I mean...”

Clark’s spontaneous exclamation made Bruce laugh. “I am soon ready. And you haven’t even started yet.”

“Excuse me?”

“The restaurant we are going assumes a male customer should wear a tie and that doesn’t go well with your present outfit. Off you go with it.”

“But...” He had succeeded to pull the rug out from under Clark’s feet again. “I don’t have… I don’t think...”

Bruce entered the closet again and returned with a nice-looking dark suit and a crisp, white dress shirt. “You should try these.”

“But how… alright! You didn’t took my measurement when I was sleeping, did you?”

“I wouldn’t dare. I wouldn’t have gotten them right anyway. Alfred did all the heavy lifting.”

For some reason his confession didn’t make Clark any happier.

“I will leave you to change”, Bruce decided. “There are overcoats, shoes and other accessories on the right, ask if you don’t find something.”

It took some fifteen minutes, which was a long time for a guy who was supposed to be preternaturally fast. There had been a few obstacles, Bruce noticed when Clark wandered to the common area, one of them hanging from Clark’s neck and two others peeking from the sleeves of his new suit.

“None of these shirts have buttons in their wrists. Perhaps if you have safety pins...”

Bruce was quite a snob and should have been annoyed already, but he found himself strangely enamored of Clark’s innocent classlessness. “Your sleeves are as they should be. All my shirts have French cuffs. You will need cuff links.” They went back to the bedroom where Bruce opened a drawer, revealing Clark a collection of manly jewellery, lying on the their velvet pillows. He chose a pair and showed it to Clark. “Will these ones do?”

“Yes, of course. It is just I have never…”

“They were my brother’s”, Bruce said to cut out Clark’s embarrassed explanations.

“So… he is not...”

Bruce raised his brow in question. Clark made a pantomime, his browse fingers as huge eye-teeth making Bruce to burst at laughing.

“No, no”, he managed after a brief while. “Robert died in the cholera outbreak with my parents.”

“Oh! I am so sorry to hear that.”

He indeed looked like he was. Bruce turned and shrugged his shoulders that Clark wouldn’t notice how his easy kindness had moved him.

“I thank you, but it happened a long time ago. So! Why have you strangled your poor tie? Don’t say you have bought all your ties ready-knotted or something hideous like that?”

“Of course I am not”, Clark lied pointing toward Bruce’s burlesque looking tune-up. “I just… I tried to put it in a same way.”

Bruce was shaking his head before the sentence ended. “That will not do. This knot I am sporting needs an attitude you are sorely lacking. Let me.”

Bruce stepped in front of Clark. He kept his eyes on the other man’s face as his hands made a few precise movements. The end result looked as its wearer.

“Plain”, Clark complained.

“Clear”, Bruce corrected. “Honest.”

He was looked at with appraising eyes. “It is better”, Clark admitted after he had checked himself from the bathroom mirror.

“Alright! Just try these on and we are ready to go. I assumed your originals are only props.”

“You assumed right”, Clark mumbled, taking the eyeglasses. They were much like his regular ones, but something, maybe the curve of the fame or the slide of the color made them fit better on his face.

“Yes, Alfred is always on the nose with these things”, Bruce mumbled. He pushed his phone and wallet into his pockets. “Are we ready?”

“So…”

“Our first date of course”, Bruce said. “You feel like a guy who will not put out if he hasn’t gotten a proper amount of wooing.”

“Just kidding”, Bruce said, as Clark let out an undignified squeak. “I am not that Victorian. You can be as trumpery as you like and you will still have my literally undying respect. Come on! Our uber will not wait for us the whole evening.”

“You have some scheme going on, haven’t you?” Clark found his tongue as they hurried down the stairs. “I am starting to see the pattern here. You are having a hidden purpose again. What is it? I thought you found out everything you wanted to know about me the first time.”

Bruce laughed and flew down their last ride. Clark was starting to learn.


End file.
